Reveries of Grandeur
by eCkeCk546
Summary: As a testament to these last few hundred moments I’ve lived, and these last few thousand dreams I’ve unexpectedly awaken from, I know what exactly are the greatest things in life. [Takato x Juri, Jenrya x Takato, Ruki x Jenrya]
1. Especially For You

**So, i managed to post 2 entries in one night. perhaps i'm overdoing it. oh well. anyways, enjoy! this is my first tamers fic. hopefully, i will do them justice. i think i did pretty well with adventure 01 and 02. so, this story happens to center around takato, and this chapter, he will be the narrator. just look out for other characters to be narrators in upcoming chapters. the story also centers around jenrya (or jiangliang or henry... whatever). who knows what might happen... i don't, certainly. i'll update this soon, but i won't put a date so that i don't fail to deliver, like my other promised updates. well, i don't own digimon. i'm guessing taichi or yamato does.**

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_Reveries of Grandeur  
Track 01: "especially for you"_

The great things in life are those times when everything falls into place, and you collide with the intertwined laughs, cheers and sobs, only to find yourself twirling upon impact into a serene, unabated oblivion.

But, as a testament to these last few hundred moments I've lived, and these last few thousand dreams I've unexpectedly awaken from, I know what exactly are the greatest things in life. The greatest things in life are those times that such moments are just at your grasp, and all you can do is wait for fate to deal you a hand in your favor. You can't reach out and take it. You just can't. All you can do is stare from such a close distance. All you can do is let out a sheepish smile, and keep the thoughts of how great life would be to yourself. To, the absolute struggle is what I live for.

Once I have something, I'm at a loss for more than words. I give up. I am no longer a lost cause in need of any sort of redemption or pity or sympathy. I am the shadow that can only linger around. I am the shadow that can only admire from a distance. I was meant for a life of humble nothingness and absolute simplicity. I never thought of having it all. If I had it all, I would have no real reason to exist. I thought that all I could do was dream.

There are moments in life that drift between being some great moment, and being one of the many greatest moments one could ever live. There was a day where every moment I had teetered between that very fine line between great and greatest. From my dad's standard heckling of what the TV had to say, to the moment I artistically made a perfect swirl of toothpaste curl onto the not-so-hard bristles of my cheap toothbrush (and believe me, these swirls could have rivaled those of "Starry Night."), I could have went on and on about them. But it was that day that I realized that these moments were strung together to make one fantastic dream. These moments were like the kites that dotted the sky in the park I would frequently visit during my childhood. They were just gently floating around, riding the melodious current of the tranquil breeze.

It was that day where I realized that I was really Takato Matsuda. It was one fantastic dream that I wish I never woke up from.

I woke up that day, like I did any other day. From the depths of a dark and empty slumber, the light of a soft sun enveloped my very being, and I opened my eyes, and I bathed in the splendor. I bathed in the splendor of mediocrity, and of a safety most reassuring.

I hurriedly adjusted the blinds that hampered some of the light from filling the room, and doing so revealed the eminent sign of opportunity in the air. The leaves were drifting along, on that clear, warm autumn day. Summer exited with a triumphant breath of reassurance. It was a reassurance that would be missed, for the months ahead were going to be arduous, at best, or reminiscent, at worst.

I remembered it was a Saturday, since my mom didn't hoot and holler for me to get ready for school. Instead she did so for me to help out downstairs with the day's orders. Living in a bakery had its perks, like the free banana-nut bread and the occasional piece of a delicious sample loaf or two. But, like in every aspect of life, the cons always outweighed the pros. Besides having the rejected pumpernickel and sourdough loafs for every single meal, one living in a bakery is obligated to spend their Saturdays enslaved to the washing of dirty bowls and sweeping of excess flour.

I pretended to not hear my mom sound off every five seconds and I made the leap out from my sheets, tinted in a shade of scrub-like blue. Clean, plain, and non-threatening, like it should always been. But, before I did so, I did something I did everyday for as long as I could remember. Atop my bed, above the ground a good six feet, I always laid there just to adjust. Or, at least that's what I called it. I just liked to think about what direction my life was going.

I remember the day before, I thought about the famine at a time where my father willingly threw his quarter-eaten sukiyaki at the TV because his most hated team got a home run. To his luck, it was the bottom of the ninth, and his team was behind by 3 runs. Yeah, the bases were loaded, I guess. I didn't really care pay attention. Anything involving physical activity isn't my thing. Making the plunge off my bed was enough exercise for me.

I did so that day, with one leap out of my post, I landed on my feet, facing the closet mirror. It had revealed the fact that I forgot to put clothes on after my shower the night before. I couldn't help it. I looked at my exposed body, easily vulnerable to my harsh scrutiny and criticism. I was not too tall, but I was not too short, but I'm as far away from average as one can get. I ducked my head a little, so that I wouldn't meet my own mocha eyes. I only could stand to look at my pasty skin that accompanied my inept awkwardness.

I hated the way I look. I didn't know what to make of what I was becoming. Puberty was wreaking havoc on my gangly-yet-stubby figure. I was 16, but I didn't look like I was a day older that 10 or 11. I had no muscles, and the only hair I had growing was the tussled coconut locks atop my head. I really hated the way I look.

After dazing off into a fit of passive rage, I snapped out of it and immediately grabbed the towel that was conveniently hung on my desk chair, and bolted to the shower. The jet of scolding hot water felt like atonement for the sins of my ancestors and their ancestors. It was a rejuvenating, refreshing pain that scarred my body beautifully. There was a moment between the shampooing and the lathering where I had a revelation.

"Someone actually likes me!" I screamed, as if those who lived way atop the tiny mountain villages were deaf. The rest of the world had to know. At that moment, I thought that someone was actually thinking about me, and smiling at the thought of my little quirks and foibles. Someone was actually thinking about I smell, how smooth my skin was, or how ripped I supposedly was. Hell, someone was thinking about what's behind the Capri pants. But, perhaps they were thinking about what our first kiss would be like, or how I would nibble the earlobe, just to hear that faint squeal of pleasure and desire… Yes. Golly gee, indeed.

"Someone actually wants me." I sighed, despite the blistering water that jetted out of the showerhead was collecting in an ankle-deep pool of hell. I didn't care. Someone was in love with me. But I didn't know whom, at the time.

I hopped out of the shower to brush my teeth, and I happened to make the toothpaste as described in the aforementioned. Before doing so, I wiped the fogged up mirror to reveal my curiosity and I gazed at the red marks that shrouded my skin. It was an abuse I could tolerate and be proud of.

I ran to my room and put on my expected attire. But at that moment, and a glorious moment indeed, I decided to have a change of heart. I wanted something else. I just gawked at the clothes that I laid out the day before. There were the vanilla white boxers with the accompanying undershirt and pair of socks, as well as my starched flood-pants and aquamarine shirt with signature hood. I was staring at the goggles that were staring back at me from the top of the dresser.

With a moment of self-assurance, I grabbed my dingy gray shirt, leather flip-flops and stonewashed jeans. The real victory was that I did away with the white boxers. I went to my underwear drawer to pull out a special pair of underwear I was saving for such an occasion. Tossing all my childhood ambitions aside, I put on my new black briefs with confidence and threw the rest of my clothes on. As I was about to rush out the door, the goggles happen to catch my eye. Knowing that the plastic product of China was the looking glass to and representative of my bottled past, I gave a wink and a nod and closed the door. I had no regrets. None at all.

I ran down the stairs, only to be met my the scowling eyes of my mother, arms crossed with a rolling pin in her hand, tapping her foot to the rhythm of a destructive tango. Her head sported the signature white bandana that acted as a hip hairnet. I made several observations that I could have used later as blackmail and fodder.

First, she was wearing lipstick, despite being so early in the morning. Second, I managed to make out a stray nose hair that whirled its way out of her cavernous nose, and it swayed with every flaring of the nostril, nudge of the eyebrow and labored breath she made. Lastly, with the corner of my eye, I found that there was a loaf that I marked the day before among the other loafs for sale. The problem, you ask? The marked loaf happened to have one of my mom's French tips, lost amongst the kneading and folding of dough. Yes, truly disgusting. Blinded by anger, she spoke.

"And where do you think you're going, mister?"

Usually, I would have trembled in fear only to rush to the broom to do my expected chores at the speed of sound. But that day was different. All she did was stare at me, and her eyebrows began to lose the building tension, and a familiar smile returned to her face. All I did was stare back.

"Oh… Just… Don't be late."

I smiled as I ran towards the rack of delicious bread, but with the snarl of my mother emanating from behind, I parried the trouble and sashayed towards the door, instead. My father was sitting at the breakfast table, reading his newspaper and drinking the coffee that fueled him since 3 in the morning. It was yet another disadvantage of being a baker.

"Bye, Dad." I said, quietly, to not disturb him from his morning ritual. Actually, I was more afraid of how he would react to the unusual action of greeting him, an action that would only occur in the absence of money.

"How much?" As expected from my old man.

"Oh… No, I'm fine."

"Have a good time," he said in a way that lacked any discouragement. Sure, it was monotonous and a little spiteful, since I left him to take up my share of the chores. But, those four words gave me comfort in knowing that he'd actually wanted me to have a great time. I know he said 'good,' but that could mean anything.

And with that colorful expression of jubilation, I smiled as I paraded out onto the foliage-wrapped sidewalk. The brisk air was tolerable, and the birds chirping away their sweet serenades only complimented the atmosphere even more. Love was in the air, but for once, I am the object of someone's desires and fantasies. It was a just a day that ended all days for me.

On the way to my destination, I happened to pass the flower shop. I was going to take the advice of the irrational cliché of stopping, for once, to smell the flowers. I did so. There were Roses and Lilacs and Daisies and Tulips. There were Orchids and Stocks and Hyacinths and Peonies. They all smelled of their own accord, only blending to some harmonious, undistinguishable euphoria. Everything was in place that day.

"Where you going," Asked the vendor, watering the hanging ferns next to the flowers.

"I don't know," I said. "But I know I'm going to get there."

I looked at my cell phone to take note of the time. It was at that moment, 9:27 in the morning, on Saturday, September 29, when I realized that everything was in place that day for something momentous and spectacular. Realizing the time, I had to run. I promised to be there at 9:30. It would look terrible if I was late. It would be one of the many greatest terrible moments. It would be my absolute downfall if I were to be late.

I couldn't be late that day. I had a date with Jenrya.

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**by the by, this story is gonna be an interesting tangled web of interest and unrequitted love. when the puppeteer is bored and insane, he tends to make his puppets dance to their death. uggh... anyways, reviews reviews reviews would be nice. flames and praise welcomed.**

**ek**


	2. My Favorite Accident

**it has been the longest of times since i last wrote something, so please have mercy on me. it is good to be back. actually, i was looking through my emails, and i saw that some people were adding this story on alerts and reviewing and stuff like that, and because of that, i thank you... it inspired me to finish this story. it's gonna be a few chapters... soo... enjoy. this is about jenrya this chapter. i don't own digimon. i'm sure whoever does must be flattered by all the fanfics.**

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_Reveries of Grandeur  
Track 02: "my favorite accident" _

A balmy night. I remembered . Everyone happened to be at the park that night. The old folks walked with pride and a lack of fear of the hustlers and transients that usually flood the green, green grasses. The sweet melodies of the cicadas drown out the impetuous beating of my anxious heart. I was so nervous that night. How couldn't I be? Those rich, hazelnut eyes were staring right into my midnight-colored orbs, and I was returning the favor, looking into the eyes of heaven. It was just Takato and me.

"Jenrya, I need to be with you, right now."

Those were the words that made me involuntarily shutter and blush. We practically saw each other all day at school, walked towards our respective homes together, and mutually parted ways at the convenient store on the corner, the last part to my dismay. As he ventured onward towards his house down a couple of blocks, I managed to pull out my digital camera, and take a quick shot of his backside. Senselessly giddy, I stealthily rushed to my family's apartment building, climbed the 4 flights of stairs and stumbled into my cramped window-box of an apartment. My mom was at the stovetop, burning something while chatting away with her close confidant about the latest gossip, and my sister was playing stuffed dolls parade/gigantic monster calamity. I managed to ignore them, whereas they struggled to even comprehend my very existence, even with my earsplitting act of taking off my shoes and tripping over the hardwood floor rise.

I got into my room, and slammed the door shut, locking out any curious intruder who would interfere. I sauntered to my desk and docked my camera to my awaiting printer, and in the flashest of flashes, a 4X6 of a retreating Takato, wearing green sneakers, gray khakis and a blue-stripped polo, was in my physical possession. I took the picture, cut the empty non-Takato space and proceeded to my bed in the far corner of my room. I took some glue from the top drawer of my nightstand, applied the adhesive to the back of the photo, and like a treasured puzzle piece, I got my enormous collage of Takato images that I have assembled from under my bed, laid it flat onto my queen-sized bed and smashed it in. I couldn't appreciate the collection of against my green bedspread, so I leaned it against the wall, stepped back and let the endorphins rush in to do their work.

It was an intrinsically beautiful sight. It was bursting with photos of Takato and me, some dating as far back as I could remember. Some of them were from our younger days, where all I knew was Takato and life wasn't at all complicated. We'd be at the park, at school or at each other's house. There were pictures of us in our suits and ties, and there are pictures of us in our house clothes, and even some of us at the water park that my family would go to every year, and he always tagged along, wearing nothing but some board shorts. There were some of him smiling or making ridiculous faces, but there were also pictures of him looking stern, yet debonair. A sigh escaped through my lips as I noticed the increasing amount of stolen shots. Without even posing, there was a quality of his that I admired; he was always himself. He was predictable and simple, yet headstrong and determined.

That's why I liked him. That's why I loved him.

I ran my fingers through my jet-black hair, closed my eyes and started to get into a less restrictive environment. I commenced to unzip my orange vest, letting it slide down my arms only to fall to the floor. As if I were practicing, I seductively took my hands to my hips, grabbed onto my shirt, and slowly pulled it up, revealing a summer's worth of countless pushups and even more sit-ups. It was all for him. With a hint of some restraint, I unbuckled my belt and slipped out of my sepia-tinted jeans. My precious pair held on as they slid past my waist and bulging erection, hampered by my white briefs. Moving my collage aside and away from harm, I sneaked in between the covers of my bed and quelled temptation. With impious thoughts running through my head, I satisfied my yearning for him. After I came, I was comforted only by the thought of his smile. It was a growing emptiness that I desperately needed filled, and the fact that he didn't even know how I felt did not help one bit. Ashamed of what I did, I crawled up into a ball, wishing for an impossible miracle and fell asleep.

I woke up in a fit of rage, interrupted by the sound of a distant, yet violent vibration emanating from my mobile. I rushed to my discarded pants and rummaged through the pockets to find some kind of sick joke. It was Takato. He needed me, or so he said. He told me to meet him at the park. I was intoxicated by the urgency in his plea. He actually needed me. I became drunk with power, clenching on to the thought that it was a matter of life or death. In a furious, somewhat devilish flurry, I got back into my clothes, freshened up with a spritz of cologne and headed out of the darkness of my room, into a new world. It was dusk, and the only thought on my mind was that this was my chance to be with him.

"Tonight was going to be the night," I said to myself, knowing at that moment, I was willing to put my heart on the line, not knowing that I faced certain agony. I passed my family sitting at the dinner table, which happened to be strategically placed facing my bedroom door. My father was home from his fruitless day at the rat races, and as days gone by, his defeatist attitude that he promised to now express itself at home was, ever more obvious, a losing struggle. I only bothered to glance at their eyes and at the take-out that my mom feverishly ordered after the fiasco in the kitchen. My father, sitting at the head of the table, was disgusted by my everything. At that time, I hadn't told him anything that would have caused him to fret, but I'm sure he could have read his only son like a book. He hated me, but he hated himself more for raising a failure. My mother, who was known to be much more understanding, couldn't have cared less about me at that moment. My sister, whose name escapes me from time to time, had the innocent emptiness that I sometimes envy. As I was leaving, they continued on with their conversation, and I was fine with that. The less they were talking about me, the less pressure I felt on my shoulders.

Our front door was sandwiched by two walls, forming a little entrance way large enough to hang my various accolades and other crap that never really mattered to me. But, for the first time, my eyes were quickly glancing about, noticing that from wall to wall, I had science fair ribbons, sports metals, and geek paraphernalia yet I couldn't tell one thing I was proud of myself for doing. I took my shoes and proceeded to put them on after I closed the door behind me. I rushed down to the park, racing towards a setting sun. The sidewalk had a few couples and some vendors selling ice cream. It was a welcomed sight, knowing that the days were going to get longer. Oddly, the streets were empty, so I began to run. The street lights were flickering on when I was reminded of Takato's sweet, maturing voice beckoning. I found that second wind.

Finally, I found him in the distance, wearing the same clothes as he was this afternoon, along with his messenger bag, leaning against the lamppost like some jerk. His face found both the light of the setting sun and the illuminating park light. He was looking rather auspicious, like nothing could stop him. Even though he looking towards the kids playing thrilling matches of soccer, he looked as if the world was his. I stopped running, and I began to slow down. I was meters away when I found myself at a complete stop, just admiring him from a distance, like I always had. He had to call me over.

"Thanks, Jenrya," he said gallantly, with a tense, yet comfortable overtone.

"Glad to be here," I retorted back. "So, what's up? Why'd you call?" I had to stop myself from carrying myself as bitchy. I really wanted to be there. I would have given up my entire world a million times over, just to be with him for a mere second. It was great; he was looking at me, and only at me. He pulled out a bottle in a brown paper bag. I was chuckling quite a bit inside my head, because I thought it was rather cute. He probably picked something like this up from the movies. "You don't drink… And I hate the stuff."

"But it's the end of the school year! It's only proper if we celebrate!" There was this fervor in his voice that I never anticipated from him, much less even knew that he had the potential to have. He was eager. I knew he was, because I saw it in his eyes. So, like a puppet to his whimsical, ostentatious puppeteer, I gave in. He smiled and took the first gulp, regardless of the fact that we were underage or that the park was full of narks, especially with the advent of summer. By the time he was finished, he didn't know his hand from mine. He attempted to hand me the bottle, but I had to take it with one hand and prop Takato up with the other. I drank, and the bitter taste of tree bark and rubber heightened my gag reflexes. I spat it out, back into the bottle. Takato was too drunk to notice, and the thought of him drinking something that was in my mouth, though only for a second, was exhilarating. Nasty, I know, but I felt ecstatic. He took me by the hand, and we went off to do god-knows-what. Just having the taste of liquor in my mouth made me woozy. I didn't know what went on, but I knew we didn't do anything I would remember.

After a night of maintaining a constant cycle of reveling about, blacking out, waking up to see Takato's gorgeous face, taking a swig of some malt liquor from his dad's private stash, and screaming and hollering some nonsense into the approaching summer air, we ended up at the playground. We collapsed next to the jungle gym, on the soft, urine-free sand, laughing and breathing heavy from exhaustion. After having a fit, I glanced over to see Takato staring straight into the heavens, cackling hysterically. He was completely free of stress. Finals were difficult for him, like any test. He was constantly walking a tightrope of uncertainty. Of course, it was mainly Takato's ritual, for I could handle the rigor of academia, and I thought I did pretty well that term. I noticed he was slowly turning his head towards me, to have our eyes meet again, and I felt the warmth throughout my body. It was warmth that I craved to have all the time. It was warmth that I would only feel when I thought of him. I finally had the courage to say something.

"Takato… I like this… Being with you." I was stumbling, struggling with every word. It was as if my heart was screaming with every palpitation. He grew cold, with a countenance of regret and sorrow appearing.

"I'm going away for the summer… To my cousin's place." I, too, felt the smile on my face fading away. "I'm gonna miss you, Jenrya… I promise, it'll only be for the summer…" I didn't know what that meant, and we were friends for a long time, but this was the first time that I felt so close to him. All the emotional barriers that I've put to block him from finding out my true feeling have been torn down. This was it. I sat up, and he edged closer to me, crawling sensually, shrinking the gap that we had to nothing. I closed my eyes as I saw his lips advance towards mine. But, as seconds passed and with no fireworks, no swirling lights, no anything, I opened my eyes, to see him caressing my body, holding on for dear life. All I could here was his muffled murmuring into my chest, and the warmth of his breath, which made me fall back down.

As he was lying on me, he made a drunken promise. By the end of our upcoming junior year, if he was alone and his heart was still intact, I would be his, and he would be mine. It was late when I sobered up, and he was still on me, knocked out. As much as I wanted him at that moment, I knew I had to respect his wishes. I loved him too much. I knew the wait would be agonizing, but I knew it would be worth it at the end.

"I liked it the last 20 times you told it…" Ruki chimed in. She had a dark pink bandana holding back her strawberry blonde locks, for fashionable and sanitary reasons. She took a summer job at this fantastic coffee shop. Since I didn't have Takato, Ruki was the next best thing. She was a mutual friend, and I just talked to her about him the whole summer. She embraced me when I told her, ignoring the thirsty patrons and sat down with me. I guess she was glad to finally have a gay best friend.

"Whatever… You're just jealous, bitch…" We were sitting on these suede armchairs. The bustling coffee shop was a nice throwback to the modern-day detached world of bitter frappuccinos. Besides Ruki, it was the authenticity that drew me in. She was just about to start her shift. She got up and eyed the door.

"Maybe I am… But if I were you, I'd try to not look shitty, because your prince charming just walked in." My eyes widened, and I began to grow nervous, but more so excited. I feared to turn towards the door, but I did out of anticipation. To my disappointment he wasn't there.

"What the hell was that for?" I inquired, obviously frustrated.

"Just need to keep you on your toes." As much as I loved Ruki, she sure knows how to play with one's emotions. "Plus… I just don't want you to… you know… get your heart broken," she said softly. "Maybe he changed this summer."

"You don't know that… Besides, just being with him would suffice… I've been waiting my whole life… What are another few months? It's just one school year. I can do it." I had to beg to myself to be convinced of this fabrication of what-ifs.

"Well… I wish you the best, 'cuz he's walking in." I didn't want to be tormented for long, so I glanced back and sure enough, he was walking in. I finally felt complete again, after an empty summer of unrequited love. To know we were in the same place, just meters away from an embrace, was enough. Ruki wished me a humble 'good luck,' but it was drowned out by my constant smile.

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**R&R, please... i love reading the comments of my peers. keep an eye out, and never forget to read between the lines.**

**ek **


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